


Good Medicine - Owltail's Path

by furzeleap



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Original Character(s), but really it's practically identical to canon and the setting won't play that much of a role, i like herbs too much, set roughly in the flint hills area of the great plains; some animals and plants will be different, this was supposed to just be a medicine cat's slice-of-life short but now it's got so much plot help, will probably change the title to something better later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furzeleap/pseuds/furzeleap
Summary: When the former Thunderclan medicine cat vanished from the forest, her young apprentice was suddenly thrust into the life and responsibilities of a solo medicine cat. With his new title, Owltail must adjust all on his own. It's an important job: healing, managing patients, convening with Starclan, and even helping to manage his clan's tumultuous reputation, all while wondering what could have happened to his mentor. Just when he's about to lose hope, a stranger appears -- and she may have answers.





	Good Medicine - Owltail's Path

Hazelfur flopped down in the nest with a huff. She sank her claws into the mossy earth and scowled at her medicine cat. “Alright, what pigeon-brained muddle of herbs do you have planned for me today?”   
  
Owltail sighed, not bothering to look up from his work. He stirred a pile of herbs between his paws as he responded half-heartedly. “Nettles for strength, and willows for the pain.”   
  
“We’ve tried nettles already.” Hazelfur lashed her tail in frustration. “Don’t you have anything else?”   
  
“Not unless you can magically invent a new herb,” Owltail muttered under his breath.   
  
“What was that?” Hazelfur challenged.   
  
“Nothing.”   
  
They stood in the medicine clearing, an enclosed space surrounded by tall, thick plants. A thin trickle of water supplied a small pool on one side, while a few mossy nests lined the other. Owltail stood before dozens of little scooped-out hollows, all filled with leaves and stems. Bundles of herbs hung suspended on branches to dry, drifting gently in the silent breeze.  It was a peaceful place to be… When Hazelfur wasn’t there.   
  
“I’m getting tired of choking down all these rotten leaves,” she hissed, curling her lip. “Nothing ever works! If I wanted to waste my time by making myself sick, I’d just march down to the Thunderpath and eat some Crowfood...”   
  
Owltail had gotten good at tuning her ceaseless complaints out. He’d given up trying to reason with her long ago. Mournfully he thought of his mentor, Galeflight. She’d always been fantastic at dealing with other cats. If she were here, Hazelfur would be no trouble. But she’d been gone for some moons now – vanished without a trace. Every time Owltail thought he was beginning to manage well without her, someone like Hazelfur wandered in.   
  
Finally he wrapped up the stack of herbs and carried it to Hazelfur. “Here,” he said patiently. “To make it taste better, I added mouse blood – I know you’re sick of the taste of honey.”   
  
Hazelfur stretched out her scrawny leg and poked at the glistening herbs. Disdainfully she picked up a shred of nettle with a claw and ate it. She grimaced and spat it onto the ground. “It’s vile! Tastes like poison!” She growled in Owltail’s face. “You call this better?”   
  
Owltail flinched away and fought down his frustration. “I know it’s still not good, but I thought the blood would help…”   
  
“Oh, good, you  _ thought! _ And I suppose you also  _ thought  _ that this disgusting pile of mush would heal me, did you?” She knocked the herbs away and stood up with a pained groan. “I’ll make do without your thistlefluff, thank you very much.” She stormed away, leaving the clearing through a sheltered grassy tunnel.   
  
Owltail sighed heavily. “Well, at least she tried it this time…” Carefully he scooped up the scattered wet leaves, picked them up in his jaws, and slipped through a gap in the thick plants surrounding the clearing. He dug a shallow hole in the earth and dropped the now-useless herbs into it. He replaced the earth and patted it down before surveying the many other churned-up spots around him. Feeling disappointed with himself, he wondered just how many more times he’d have to wedge himself between these stems to clean up Hazelfur’s mess.   
  
Owltail squeezed back into his clearing and shook out his pelt. He looked up thoughtfully, past the plants and distant trees. “Okay,” he murmured to himself, “I just have to check on the queens, and then I’ll leave for the half-moon gathering.” Swiftly he scooped up some herbs he thought he might need and hurried out through the tunnel.   
  
The instant he stepped out of the grassy tunnel, the serene silence of his clearing dissolved. The Thunderclan camp was bustling with activity. A patrol with all the apprentices was just leaving, pushing their way through the bramble tunnel. A few elders were sharing a squirrel by the tree-stump and gossiping. Six kits were pouncing on top of one another just outside the nursery while their mother, Honeybranch, watched. Owltail strode over to meet her.   
  
She looked up as he approached. “Hello, Owltail,” she greeted warmly.   
  
Owltail dipped his head respectfully and set down his bundle of herbs. “How are you today?”   
  
“Well,” she said, tucking her paws in beneath her and turning her wide green eyes back to her kits, “but my milk is still a bit low.”   
  
“I thought you might say that,” Owltail said. He picked a stack of dandelion roots from his bundle and nosed them towards her. “Still want to do it yourself?”   
  
“Yes, thank you,” Honeybranch said. She took the fresh roots in her teeth and chewed them up, her short white face screwing up in disgust. As usual, she didn’t complain. She stretched around and applied the poultice to her teats, spreading it evenly across her belly.   
  
Examining her handiwork, she sighed. “Is it bad that I rely on these herbs so much?”   
  
“Of course not!” Owltail said encouragingly. “There’s no shame in needing a bit of help, especially when you have so many kits to feed.” He watched as the kits bolted across the camp and back again, tripping over each other. “Honestly, I really respect the way you manage them all. It’s so much work, but it never seems to bother you!” He chuckled as three kits attempted to stack on top of one another, toppling over in a great giggling heap. “I’m no expert on kit-raising, but I don’t think it takes one to know that you’re a fantastic mother.”   
  
Honeybranch chuckled; her low, rumbling laugh sounded astoundingly like a purr. “Such flattery!” She stood up and touched his ear with her nose. “Thanks, Owltail.” She walked away, towards her kits, who immediately dashed to her feet. They milled around her legs and chattered endlessly as she made her way to the fresh-kill pile.   
  
“Starclan, I hope I don’t end up with as many kits as her!”   
  
Owltail turned to see Spiderclaw pushing her way out of the nursery.   
  
“You’ve gotten so big, you might have a dozen!” Owltail teased. She was very close to kitting, and she certainly looked it. It was still strange to him, seeing his littermate like this. Exciting… but strange.   
  
Spiderclaw shoved him gently. “Don’t even joke about it, my heart will give out!” She craned her neck to smooth the fur on her shoulder. “Seriously, though… How many kits should I expect?”   
  
“I’m… not entirely sure,” he confessed. “I don’t exactly have a lot of practice with this sort of thing.”   
  
Spiderclaw nodded. “The fewer the better.” Upon seeing Owltail’s shocked expression, she added, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to have them! But seeing Honeybranch have to herd all those kits around all day, and all by herself… It looks exhausting!”   
  
“You’ve been helping her, though, right?” Owltail turned back towards Honeybranch. She’d dragged a rabbit off of the fresh-kill pile, but now it seemed as though she was too busy divvying up the prey between her kits to take a bite for herself.   
  
“Of course, but now that I’m so close to kitting, I’m not of much use to anyone,” Spiderclaw said. “All I can ever seem to do is sleep and eat and complain!”   
  
Owltail laughed. “Any serious complaints?”   
  
“Nothing that you can help with,” Spiderclaw sighed. “Unless you have a way to go back in time and warn me that having a bellyful of kits is the most uncomfortable thing in the world.” She slowly and deliberately dropped down on her side and stretched out her front legs. “My muscles are always tired, I always feel unbalanced, and it’s impossible to get comfortable enough to sleep at night.”   
  
Owltail patted her face with a paw. “If you’re still up when I get back tonight, I’ll bring you some chamomile to help you sleep.”   
  
Spiderclaw swiped away his paw, laughter in her eyes. “That’d be great, thanks.”   
  
Owltail opened his mouth to respond when the light suddenly changed. He looked up at the sky; it was being overtaken by grey clouds. They were soft and gentle, but huge. Those definitely hadn’t been there earlier.   
  
Spiderclaw followed his gaze. “Old Elmspots said there’d be rain today. Looks like she might be right.”   
  
“I hope not,” Owltail said. The clouds were racing fast as a hare across the sky.   
  
“Oh, that’s right!” Spiderclaw recalled. “You’ve got the Half-moon gathering tonight!” She rolled over and sat back up stiffly, gazing up at the sky along with him. “I’d say it’s probably nothing, but I don’t think Elmspots has ever been wrong about the weather.”   
  
“Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll be at Mothermouth before it starts.”   
  
“I’ll knot my tail for good luck,” Spiderclaw joked, “but you should probably leave soon just in case.”   
  
Owltail laughed. “You’re right.” He arched his back and yawned. “Oh!” Suddenly remembering the rest of his herb pile, he pushed it towards Spiderclaw. “Here’s some more garlic leaves, if you need them.”   
  
“Ugh, there’s another thing about expecting kits!” Spiderclaw complained as she bent down and bit into the leaves. “I can’t even make dirt properly anymore!”   
  
Owltail laughed sympathetically. “Let me know if those help much. If they don’t, we can always try something else.”   
  
Spiderclaw choked down the last of the herbs with a grimace. “Thanks,” she said. Laughter sparkled in her eyes. “Can’t wait for my kitting. I know I should be excited for the kits, but to tell you the truth, I mostly just want my body to be normal again.”   
  
“You’re so close!” Owltail encouraged. His tail swished excitedly. Despite her jokes, he knew just how much Spiderclaw cared for her unborn kits. She’d been ecstatic – if a touch nervous - when she’d first found out she was expecting. Sometimes, when no one else was around, Owltail would overhear her talking to her kits in a soothing, cooing voice. He didn’t doubt for a moment that she’d be a great mother. He gently touched his nose to hers. “See you later.”   
  
“Stay dry!” Spiderclaw called after him as he padded away.   
  
Owltail sighed. Talking to her always made him feel better. He was lucky to have her; not many cats could claim that their best friend was also their littermate.

  
_ I’d better check in with Houndstar before I leave _ , he thought. He surveyed the clearing, trying to catch a glimpse of her spotted pelt and burly frame. There she was, talking with her deputy Greystorm, just below the Highrock. Owltail trotted over to meet them.   
  
“…I just don’t think it’s a good idea to be stepping on their toes right now,” Houndstar said in a low voice.   
  
“It’s been many, many moons,” Greystorm countered, his skinny tail lashing with agitation. “The only way the forest will move on is if someone makes the first move. And avoiding them would be  _ more  _ insulting.”   
  
“Hmmh,” Houndstar pondered this. “You make a good point, but –” she cut herself off. “Hello, Owltail.” She dipped her head respectfully.   
  
Owltail returned the gesture. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m headed off for the gathering now.”   
  
“Of course,” Houndstar said. “Safe travels.”   
  
Owltail gave each of them a friendly nod before turning away. He would have liked to hear what they were debating, but he had no time to talk. His conversation with Spiderclaw had delayed him enough. Briskly he made his way through camp and out the bramble tunnel.   
  
The serenity of the forest made good company as he made his way to Fourtrees. It was that blissful period between Greenleaf and Leaf-fall; the ground was cool, the grass was soft, and the breeze was gentle. Every step Owltail took was cushioned by lush, velvety chickweed. It felt a bit like walking on clouds.   
  
It wasn’t long before Owltail met the slope to Fourtrees. He pushed his way through the bushes that guarded it and peered down. It looked like he was the last one to arrive. Larkleap and Stripepaw of Riverclan were deep in conversation with Pinefeather of Shadowclan. Owltail dashed down the slope to meet them.   
  
It was Stripepaw that noticed him first. “Hello, Owltail!” She bounded forward, swishing her tail.   
  
“Hello,” Owltail greeted warmly. To the whole group, he added, “I’m not late, am I?”   
  
“No, but just barely,” Larkleap chided gently. He had the same twinkle in his eye he always had. Owltail couldn’t quite place what it was… It sort of reminded him of how he felt as a kit, safe and warm at his doting mother’s belly. It seemed that he had that effect on everyone, more or less; there was just something so gentle and tender about the way he treated those around him. It was just as confusing as it was fascinating. Nevertheless, Owltail had yet to find a single soul who didn’t like Larkleap.   
  
“No matter,” Pinefeather shook out her smoky russet pelt. “Let’s head out.”   
  
The group took off together, heading up the slope and into the Windclan moors. As much as Owltail loved the shelter of the forest, he relished the feeling of the strong breeze raking through his thick fur. The sun, now low in the sky, painted the rocky hills a gentle peach pink and cast long blue shadows in the grass.   
  
“So,” Stripepaw said, falling back to keep pace with Owltail, “Anything new in Thunderclan?”   
  
“Not much,” Owltail replied. “I’ve found enough chickweed and bloodroot to last me nine lifetimes, though!”   
  
Stripepaw laughed. “We’re drowning in bloodroot, too! One day I was bringing some to the den, and one of the roots got sliced by some reeds on the way, so I accidentally left this huge red trail all the way through camp!” She giggled. “One of the poor elders nearly had a heart attack when he saw it!”   
  
Owltail laughed. “That’s not as bad as the time I accidentally spilled a bunch of mouse bile in the fresh-kill pile.”   
  
Stripepaw gasped. “No way!”   
  
“Oh, yes!” Owltail couldn’t help but laugh at himself. “I got into a lot of trouble for that!”   
  
Stripepaw laughed a little too loud. Owltail’s ears grew hot as he realized her wide yellow eyes hadn’t left him for a moment since they started talking.   
  
“That reminds me,” he stammered, trying to change the subject, “We’re going to have more kits in Thunderclan very soon. They ought to cause plenty of trouble!”   
  
“Definitely… Wait, doesn’t your clan already have a ton of kits?” Her voice was muffled. Stripepaw was beginning to disappear as they trudged through some grass nearly as tall as her. It only came up to Owltail’s neck, but all he could see of her were her tall cinnamon-colored ears.   
  
“Yep! Six in one litter. We’ll have our paws full training them once they move into the apprentice den.”   
  
“Wow! How old are they?”   
  
“About three moons, I think,” he responded. “Maybe four. Speaking of kits… Do you know how to tell how many there’ll be before they arrive?”   
  
“Not sure…” She leaped up into the air and called ahead, “Larkleap!” With a muffled whump she landed back in the grass and disappeared again.   
  
The soft yellow grass rustled as Larkleap and Pinefeather fell back to join them. “What was that?” Larkleap asked.   
  
“I was wondering if there was a way to count kits before they’re born,” Owltail explained.   
  
Pinefeather grunted. “Has no one ever told you not to count your prey before you catch it?”   
  
Owltail chuckled. “I know, but I think one of our queens is a little nervous about how many she’ll have,” he said. “She’s been living with Honeybranch and her six kits for a while now. It’s been pretty hectic.”   
  
“Mm. Can’t say I blame her for being nervous, then,” Pinefeather conceded.   
  
“There’s no way to be completely sure until they’re born,” Larkleap explained, veering around a big chunk of flint in his path, “but feeling around should give you a general idea.”   
  
“I’ve tried that,” Owltail admitted, “but I didn’t learn much from it.”   
  
Pinefeather swished her tail. “Maybe you’re being too gentle. Toms treat queens like they’re fragile birds, but they’re not. Pregnant bellies are stronger than you think. You can push them around a bit. If you’re being too tough, she’ll let you know, but if you’re being too gentle, you’ll never learn anything.”   
  
“Well-put!” Larkleap exclaimed. “This is good information – are you listening to this, Stripepaw?”   
  
Just above the grass, her ears twitched. “Yes!”   
  
“I’ll try again tomorrow,” Owltail decided. He appreciated Pinefeather’s advice. She knew all about kitting, from the medicinal point of view and the queen’s point of view. She’d been a warrior before, and had even had two kits before becoming a medicine cat. It was before Owltail had been born, but he’d been told that her decision was very controversial. However, over the moons, she’d proven herself and her wisdom, and now she was well-respected among all the clans. Owltail had found that her advice was always worth listening to.   
  
At last they emerged from the grass. They pushed their way through the last of it and followed a gentle rocky slope down to the Thunderpath.   
  
“The worst thing about being a medicine cat,” Pinefeather growled. “Crossing this thing every moon.”   
  
The others murmured their agreement as they took their places at the side of the Thunderpath. Pinefeather crouched on Owltail’s left, while Stripepaw pressed against his side on the right. Ordinarily he’d feel awkward if she was so close, but feeling her fur prickle with unease filled him with sympathy. During the first moons of his apprenticeship, Owltail had been terrified of this Thunderpath, too.   
  
“Give the signal, Owltail,” Pinefeather said, looking fixedly ahead.   
  
Owltail nodded and waited, craning his neck to look down each side of the Thunderpath. All was clear. He pricked his ears. No sound. He placed a paw on the black stone. Completely still.   
  
“Go!” he cried, and raced across, the others following close behind.   
  
He skidded to a halt on the other side and breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, Stripepaw yelped. Owltail whirled around, heart hammering in his chest, only to find her right beside him, holding a paw away from her in disgust.   
  
“I stepped in crowfood!” she cried, wrinkling her nose.   
  
“Weren’t you looking ahead of you?” Pinefeather asked pointedly.   
  
“It was squashed so flat, I didn’t even see it until we were running!” She danced on her three clean paws, face scrunched in anguish. “I nearly slipped, and now I smell awful!”   
  
Larkleap ran his tail down her back gently. “It’s alright, little minnow. Wipe your paw off in the grass as best as you can. We’ll keep our eyes out for a puddle for you to wash off in.”   
  
Stripepaw let out a whimper, but she did as he said, rubbing her paw against the grass. The group continued moving. Owltail took a deep breath; the air was cooling down fast as the sun set, but Highstones wasn’t far now.   
  
After more walking, more chatting, and Stripepaw discovering a puddle to wash in, they finally made it, with time to spare. The Windclan medicine cats were seated on the rocks by Mothermouth, sharing tongues while they waited.   
  
Larkleap called out to them. “Redfur! Fennelfoot!”   
  
The two looked up, their eyes glinting in the low light. They stood up to greet the group, their red and calico pelts making a harsh outline against the intense blackness of Mothermouth.   
  
“Seems we’re early today,” Pinefeather said, leaping up on the rocks next to them.   
  
“A rare occasion,” Redfur mused. His wiry whiskers twitched.   
  
“Hello, Fennelfoot!”  Stripepaw leaped up the loose rocks as well, sending a spray of pebbles down into Owltail’s face. He coughed and sputtered in surprise.   
  
Fennelfoot’s expression betrayed nothing; he merely nodded to her, his amber eyes flashing in the intense light of the setting sun. He was a mysterious fellow, always quiet and purposeful; Owltail couldn’t help but wonder about him.   
  
“Any trouble getting here?” Redfur asked politely. He scooted aside for Larkleap and Owltail to jump up and join them.   
  
“None,” Larkleap responded, settling down on the rocks. His eyes sparkled with gentle humor. “Well, unless you count stepping in crowfood.”   
  
Stripepaw bristled. “It was horrible!”   
  
Redfur chuckled at her and turned back to Larkleap. “Is all well in Riverclan?”   
  
“Not so much as a cough from the elders,” He declared proudly. “It’s been nice. We’re focusing all out efforts on preparing for leaf-bare. How’s Windclan?”   
  
“Some kits shared a bad rabbit,” he responded, “but they’ve nearly recovered by now.” He turned to Pinefeather. “Shadowclan?”   
  
“Fine,” she said. Then, less gruffly, she added “I’ve been using a new treatment for the elders’ aching joints. It’s been working very well.”   
  
“Heather in water wasn’t working for you?” Redfur nestled down and tucked his paws beneath him.   
  
She shook her head. “It’s too wet in the marshes. Doesn’t help.” She sat down. “Ginger’s been working, though. Found some near twolegplace.”   
  
“Ginger?” Larkleap’s ears pricked with surprise.   
  
Pinefeather nodded. “It’s an anti-inflammatory. Works like a charm.”   
  
“Huh,” Owltail said. He settled down next to Stripepaw. “I thought it was just for colds and congestion.”   
  
“It’s good for nausea, too,” Larkleap added, “but I had no idea about joint pain. I’ll have to remember that.”   
  
“Well,” Redtail said, “How about Thunderclan? Any trouble?”   
  
Everyone turned their eyes onto Owltail, gazing at him more fixedly than they had anyone else. He thought he caught a glimmer of concern in Larkleap’s eyes. Puzzled and a little nervous, he managed to stammer, “Er… Fine.” He squirmed for a moment before remembering; “Actually, now that I think of it, I’ve been having some trouble with a patient.”   
  
“Oh?” Larkleap said. Everyone’s gaze seemed to intensify.   
  
Owltail bristled. Why did things get so serious all of a sudden? He fought to sound casual, hoping to outweigh the awkward tension. “It’s this warrior named Hazelfur. She’s been having a lot of trouble lately – she’s stiff and aching and exhausted all the time. But it’s like she doesn’t want to be treated for it. Every time I mix her something, she gets angry and tosses it all away.” He frowned; saying it out loud made it sound much more serious than he’d thought.   
  
Larkleap leaned back, and some of the fierce concern in his gaze dissolved. “Dealing with difficult cats is one of the hardest parts about being a medicine cat,” he sympathized.   
  
Pinefeather looked thoughtful. “Hazelfur… I’ve seen her at Gatherings. She’s young, isn’t she? Nowhere near retiring.”   
  
“That’s right.” Owltail drew his tail tightly over his paws, beginning to shiver in the chilly breeze.   
  
“Sounds like she’s ashamed,” Pinefeather mused. “She’s frustrated that she’s having these problems and angry that she needs treatment.”   
  
Stripepaw looked a bit confused. “Needing help is nothing to be ashamed of.” She looked to Larkleap quizzically.   
  
“You’re right,” Larkleap said to her, “but it doesn’t always feel that way. Hazelfur probably feels like she has a duty to her clan, and she’s frustrated that she can’t carry it out.” He looked towards Owltail. “Does that sound about right?”   
  
“Yes, exactly!” Owltail was surprised. He’d never thought about it that way before. “But how can I help her? Every time I try, I end up with cuffed ears and wasted herbs. She refuses them, even though I think they could help if she’d just try.” The medicine cats exchanged a glance, a knowing look in their eyes. “…What?”   
  
“Owltail, I think you’ve always been a bit soft on others,” Larkleap offered gently, unable to hide the sparkle of humor in his eyes. “You’re…”   
  
Pinefeather chuckled shortly. “You’re a pushover. You’re great with other cats until they make things difficult. When they start acting out, you shut your mouth and let them have their way.”   
  
“What?” Owltail struggled for words for a moment. This wasn’t the advice he’d been expecting. “You’re not saying I should be cruel to my patients, are you?”   
  
“No, but there’s such a thing as tough love,” Redfur noted. Fennelfoot nodded sagely.   
  
“You’ve got to put your foot down,” Pinefeather advised, slamming her paw onto the stone for emphasis. “If they want to complain, that’s fine. If they want to act like they have a bunch of burrs in their fur, that’s fine. But this cat is wasting your time and resources – the two most important things in the world to a medicine cat. You’ve got to let her know that you’re having none of it.”   
  
“I…” Owltail hesitated, then nodded slowly. “But how?”   
  
“Don’t be so afraid to get mad now and then,” Larkleap said. Subtly he winked at Stripepaw, who jokingly scowled back at him.   
  
Pinefeather nodded. “The next time she behaves like that, be short with her. Tell her how it’s going to be; she’s going to eat those herbs or she’s going to stop complaining and wasting everyone’s time. Simple.”   
  
“You can do that, easy!” Larkleap encouraged.   
  
“Er…” Owltail shuffled his paws sheepishly. “I’m not sure I can. I’d hate to be rude…”   
  
“She was rude to you first,” Redfur pointed out.   
  
“Put your foot down,” Pinefeather insisted, steely determination in her gaze. “It’ll make life a whole lot easier for everyone”   
  
Owltail sighed. “Alright, I will.” He nodded, and his voice hardened with resolve. “Tomorrow I’ll try it again.”   
  
The others cheered encouragingly. Pinefeather nodded meaningfully, and Redfur brushed Owltail’s shoulder with his fluffy tail. Even Fennelfoot offered a gesture; he met Owltail’s eyes and blinked slowly. Owltail wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but it seemed good.   
  
“Stripepaw, I hope you were listening to all of that,” Larkleap said. “It’s good advice!”   
  
“I was!” she assured him dutifully. He smiled at her proudly.   
  
Redtail stood up and arched his back in a massive stretch. “Now that all that’s been settled,” he yawned, “it’s about time we head inside.” He turned and led the way into Mothermouth’s gaping maw.   
  
The rest of the medicine cats filed in behind him, disappearing into the endless blackness. Owltail followed last, feeling light on his feet. As he slipped into the cave, all light vanished in an instant, but he didn’t so much as flinch. He kept thinking back to how friendly and supportive the others had been… It felt good to be reassured that he wasn’t alone. No one could fix his problems for him, but it was comforting to have good friends on his side. He was lucky to have them.   
  
He took a deep breath of the icy cold air. It froze his lungs and chapped his paws, but it was fresh and clear. He felt revived and rejuvenated, ready to face his problems head-on – but he pushed the feeling aside. All of that was for another day. Right now, he had something more important to do. Something that far outweighed anything he’d been struggling with.   
  
Head held high, he stepped into the Moonstone chamber. It was time to meet with Starclan.


End file.
